


Things That Are

by bananasandroses (achuislemochroi)



Series: Whofic [53]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 4X13 (Journey's End), Angst, F/M, Homage, Inspired by Brideshead Revisited, Inspired by Novel, Self-Hatred, Self-Sacrifice, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achuislemochroi/pseuds/bananasandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd seen today that there was one thing unforgivable – the bad thing he was on the point of doing, that he's not quite bad enough to do; to set up a rival good to the Universe’s.  Why should he be able to understand that, and not her?  It may be a private bargain: that, if he gave up this one thing he wants so much, however bad he might become, he won’t quite despair of himself in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Are

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009 as an _homage_ to _Brideshead Revisited_ , and as an attempt to come to terms with the events in _Journey's End_.

When – at last – the two of them had a moment to themselves, alone, away from her mum and the other Doctor and Donna, Rose thought to herself how, in some ways, she felt her current situation was highly reminiscent of how it had been at the very beginning of her time with this version of him. For a few moments, the two of them stood there in silence; drinking each other in with their eyes, letting time tick on regardless as they tried to ignore the need to deal, in some coherent sort of manner, with what had to happen. 

Neither wanted to be the first to speak. 

Eventually, she let the Doctor draw her a little further away from the others, into the corridor; her focus remained on him the entire time. 

In silence, he held out his hand to her, just as they stopped walking, and she took it without speaking. Without breaking eye contact, he moved his other hand to cup her chin, and then touch her cheek, with the lightest of caresses. 

And he was radiating waves of pain. 

“Here we are in the corridor, scavenging a bit of privacy for ourselves.” His voice was so quiet and gentle she had trouble hearing him. “Although why it takes so much effort to catch a minute out of time to say good-bye, I’ll never know.” 

An urge to touch him, to somehow dissuade him, grew as she watched the anguish in his expression grow stronger. Angry enough at him that she could hardly bear to look at him, her longing to drink him in after spending so long apart meant that she could not quite manage to tear her eyes away. 

_I can’t believe this. You can’t be doing this to me ... not_ now _. I came all this way ..._

Unsure of herself, in this surreal situation, her reply was hesitant.

“You say so little,” she began, “yet use more words than you need.” Funny, wasn’t it, how the clear pain in his eyes mirrored the timbre of her voice? “Still, it’s you. Why I’m surprised, I don’t know.”

“You know, don’t you?” His strangled tone suggested that forcing the words out was a physical struggle. 

“Ever since that other version of you — and I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me how that happened, are you?” He shook his head; her chuckle, as she watched him, was without humour. “I thought not. I suspected, ever since I set eyes on him. And now, you’re confirming it.” 

“Then you worked it out before I did. But then, you’ve always been smarter than anybody – and I include myself in that – ever gave you credit for. Oh, my Rose. If I thought you could understand, then maybe I could bear to let you go. At least, perhaps, bear it better. I can’t let you stay with me, Rose. I _can’t_. Can’t let myself be with you – not now, not ever again. But him?” 

He nodded back along the corridor ... without elaborating. It didn’t need saying. 

“He _can_ – if you’re willing, of course. You and he can live that fantastic life you deserve, safe with your family. Live everything I’ve ever dreamed. It’s the one thing I can give you, Rose. And I give it, gladly.” 

“I know you do.” 

“I wish I believed you. Then again, you always have been better to me than I’ve ever deserved.” 

_Let's not start_ that _again. That’s not fair. It’s hard enough facing the fact you’re trying to leave me, after everything you said; don’t try to make me feel guilty about it on top of everything else._

“What about you, though? What are you going to do?” 

“Always thinking of others; the domestic approach.” She made a face at that, and watched as he grinned at her – another of the lightning-fast mood changes she still found so disconcerting. “That’s what I love about you, Rose. But you know my answer, anyway; or at any rate, you should by now. I’ve the TARDIS. Same old life. Last of the Time Lords.”

The echo of their parting on a cold Norwegian beach smarted. 

“O- on your own?” Her voice cracked; she found it hard to look at him by this stage, her eyes full of tears she didn’t want him to see. Even so, she could sense how he ached to hold her, and kiss the pain away. But she also knew he would never dare let himself. 

“You know the whole of me, Rose.” 

Forcing the tears back, she looked right at him. He was grinding the words out now, she noticed, each one seeming to cost him a huge effort. “You always have. And how there’s something about me that’s always been wrong. Right from the very beginning, I’ve always felt different. Out of place, so to speak; unwanted. An outcast, to an extent. And I’m not the man you knew. Not any more.” 

“But —” 

She started to speak, but he cut her off. 

“Let me get this out, Rose. Please?” 

He looked at her, the puppy-eyed expression on his face that she had never before managed to resist. Still not wanting to believe the evidence of her ears, she shook her head, and kept quiet. 

He continued, and his words became sadder and sadder; each phrase more melancholy in tone than the last. 

“You've always been someone I could believe in, and that’s more precious to me than I could possibly tell you. But the worse I become – and I’m not going to lie to you and tell you differently, Rose, you’re worth more than that – the worse I become, the more clearly I see that I can’t drag you down with me. That’s what it would mean, starting a proper life with you; no matter how much I want it. And I _do_ want it, Rose. You can’t imagine how much.” 

She stood there trying to process his words while watching him looking at her; a whole host of emotions crossed his expressive face and, all of a sudden, something seemed to break in him. Before she had time to react, he had her in his arms and was kissing her. He was still full of surprises – which was one facet of his personality that hadn’t changed a bit.

Just the one kiss; gentle at first but the tension between them kept building and building until one of them – or was it both of them at once? She could never afterwards remember – deepened it. The next thing she knew, she was leaning against the corridor wall with the Doctor pressed against her and kissing her frantically, as if his life depended on it. 

_Perhaps it does. What do I know?_

Almost as soon as the kiss began, it ended. Somewhat out of breath, she said the first thing that came into her head. 

“Oh, Doctor; believe you me, I _can_ imagine. Very well indeed.” 

Unable to think of anything to say that might help the situation, she watched him force himself to break away from her and move so that there was some distance between them. Starting towards him, then, thinking only to bring him comfort, she stopped short at the wild look in his eyes. His voice, when he spoke again, held the saddest tone she had ever heard. 

_You can almost hear in his voice the tears he refuses to let fall._

“Rose — I can’t. I _can’t_.” 

The waves of mental agony coming off him spiked at that and it was almost overwhelming. It reminded her of the early days with her first Doctor, a man damaged almost beyond help. She had thought she’d helped him with that, if only a little – he had seemed so different, her second Doctor, with his fondness for babble and clever humour. But, it seemed, she had been wrong. This Doctor was as brutalised and damaged as the one before had been, if not more so. Except, this time, the grief and rage and pain had been turned inward – and by his own hand. 

He was exactly the same man she had left, and yet he was impossibly different. 

“Oh, Rose. If only it could be different. But there’s no help for it.” 

His voice, thick with emotion, wobbled clearly at this, and he moved back towards her to pull her to him. Without further comment, she went into his arms and, for a moment or two, they held each other. It felt to Rose in those brief moments as if time had reversed itself and everything was the way it had always been. He clutched her to him in a manner that belied his vehement insistence that she stay in this rabbit-hole of a universe, with the Other. But how could she do anything to change things when he was so adamant? He’d never been somebody who could admit to being wrong, even when it most closely concerned him; it was clear that the long years since she had seen him last had done nothing to change that trait. She felt him drop a kiss into her hair before he spoke again. 

“So now we’ll both be alone. Well, I _say_ ‘we’, but I mean me, of course. You’ll be with him, in the TARDIS.” He pulled away a little then, not losing body contact but enough for him to show her the piece of coral that would turn itself into a new TARDIS someday. He attempted to smile at her, but there wasn’t even the faintest glimmer of happiness in his expression. He offered no resistance as she sealed the gap between them once more and lay her head against his chest; his hand moved so it was nestled in her hair. “The Doctor and Rose,” he continued, “in the TARDIS. As it should be.” 

She heard his voice crack on the last phrase and felt the hands holding her to him tighten. For a few seconds the two of them stood there, saying nothing and simply holding each other. 

And then he let go of her completely, turning away from her and making a show of putting the piece of coral back into his pocket, but she saw his expression crumble and watched him cover his face with his hands. She suspected that he was closer to tears than she’d ever seen him – barely, barely hanging on – and that he didn’t want her to see him weep. 

She watched his shoulders shake as he tried to regain control; gradually, he stopped shaking, and she was about to open her mouth when he spoke, his voice choked full of the tears he forbade himself to shed. 

“You’ll be here,” he said, and it was agony to stand there and listen to him, but she wouldn’t leave him. “And I’ll be there, back in the other universe. We’ll never see each other again, you and I, and there’s no way I could even begin to make you understand.” 

Unable to see him in such distress and not at least attempt to comfort him, she moved forward to try to close the gap; cupping his face with her hand, she watched him close his eyes and lean into her touch.

And then she spoke. 

“I don’t want to make it easier for you. When I think back to how we used to be, how you said that you’d never do to me what you did to Sarah Jane, I’m so angry with you I can’t bear it.” 

She was almost shouting by this point, struggling to keep a lid on her emotions and protect herself. His eyes opened again at that and she could see how they were dark with pain. He seemed to be about to speak, so to forestall him she placed a silencing finger on his lips. 

“He isn’t you, and we both know it.” She watched him as, slow and reluctant to agree even now, he nodded his head. “And if, as I think you do, you feel the same way about me as I still do about you –“ 

She cut herself off at that point, looking straight at him. He said nothing, merely nodding again. 

“Then I don’t need to hope your hearts break,” she continued, addressing his shoes because she could not bear to look at his face and say this. 

“Why?” he asked, confusion clear in his voice. 

“Because,” she said, “I already know they have.”


End file.
